


The Forwarding Address for The Game

by CB (maidamedia), MSL (maidamedia)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 16:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14109033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maidamedia/pseuds/CB, https://archiveofourown.org/users/maidamedia/pseuds/MSL
Summary: Per a request, I've put up The Game on the Dream Width site.  Please let me know if you have any trouble getting to it, or if there are any other stories that you're looking for.Garak's game of seduction stops being a game.





	The Forwarding Address for The Game

The room, if anything, was colder than his own. But, then, he'd had years to block air vents to reduce the drafts that made sleeping so difficult. The figure that lay asleep before him had no such problems. The doctor lay in restless slumber, now a living still life, now a sleep dancer moving in slow motion to some unheard melody.  
  
The urge to stretch was becoming overwhelming. Once again Garak asked himself why he was doing this absurd thing - sitting here in a darkened room, in a chair meant for punishment and not for pleasure, and looking at a stranger. The stranger turned and the covers momentarily outlined the slim hips before the man fell onto his stomach, the twin hillocks below the trim waist drawing the eye and the imagination.  
  
That was why, of course. Garak sighed. So many years when there had been no time for even the briefest dalliance and, now that he had the time, so little desire. Oh, how he missed it all - the wildness, the joy when, against all expectation, you found yourself ALIVE! And then, for the smallest moment, it had come back to him there in that pathetic Replimat. A flicker, not a flame; more a memory of passion than a drowning storm. This man had brought it back and Garak had to know why.  
  
So here he was, waiting to see if that hint - that memory - of aliveness could be turned into reality. For an instant he wondered if that last bottle of kanar had been wise. So many things could go wrong with this insane scenario. The doctor could be startled into raising an alarm. That thought should have set off instinctive counter planning - designing just what reactive move he would take when the subject of his observation did this or that. But, instead, he just wondered how long it would be before this would play itself out and he could get something to eat.  
  
He'd waited until Quark's bar had closed at 02:00 before bypassing the inadequate security controls of the doctor's quarters. The more responsible Starfleet officers had long been asleep in preparation for the next day's work, and the younger ones had stumbled home and collapsed in their beds before Garak had dared invade the sacred military corridors where his presence would certainly have given rise to unwanted questions.  
  
As primary doctor on the station, the young man was entitled to larger quarters than Garak's own. The doctor rated a bedroom, while he, a mere shopkeeper, was assigned a single room. He could have asked for quarters with a bedroom, but his single status would have meant he'd have to argue for the space and, if this small room were any example of what would be available, he wouldn't have wanted to sleep in such a small room anyway. As it was, his dislike of enclosed spaces was kept at bay here by concentrating on the task before him which was, for this moment, feasting on the beauty of the sleeping man.  
  
Station gossip, if true, as it likely was, reported that the bed before him would soon become a crowded terminal, busy with the comings and goings of beautiful young women. So strange. Cutting oneself off from half the possibilities of pleasure. Garak, himself, was here to offer to expand the doctor's horizons. As well as his anatomy.  
  
Much as he appreciated the beauty of a Cardassian face, its features perfectly proportioned and endlessly fascinating in their complexity, the smooth lines of Doctor Bashir's face, which yet another movement had turned toward him, almost as though the sleeping man were watching him through dream-closed eyes, were fascinating. Skin that Garak could feel beneath mental fingertips, pureness of curve and sweep of cheek almost artistically minimal. And as bare in that moment as the body Garak could so well imagine beneath those absurd pajamas.  
  
"How long have you been sitting there?"  
  
The voice startled Garak, and a wave of embarrassment passed over him as he realized that he had let anticipation cloud observation. Oh, but he was slipping. He'd been so right to come. If one must discover the erosion that time had brought to instincts, better here than in another place or time where mistakes could so easily become fatal.  
  
"Not long. I thought you might want to know the results of our little operation." Garak kept his voice as even and low as the doctor's had been, attempting to make his sitting in this chair beside the man's bed seem to be the most natural thing in the world.  
  
The doctor moved to sit up and, Garak noticed approvingly, balance his weight so that he could move suddenly, if necessary. "So, what happened?"  
  
"Apparently we've just missed being blown into our respective atoms. Tahna was going to destroy the entrance to the wormhole with the explosive device but, because of our warning, the plan was thwarted in time to save the day. And our atoms." Garak smiled. "Well done, Doctor."  
  
"I just passed along what we heard," Julian's eyes narrowed. "And you couldn't just tell me that at breakfast." The statement was actually a question.  
  
"I was sure you'd want to know as soon as I knew."  
  
"But you didn't wake me up when you so kindly arrived with the news." Again, the question in the statement.  
  
"Blame it on the kindness of my heart," Garak said. "The sight of you sleeping so peacefully...I couldn't. So I settled in to wait and thought I might get you to join me for breakfast. By my body clock it's already 06:00. As a doctor, I'm sure you believe in the importance of the morning meal." He let his eyes drift down to the middle of the man's body. "And healthful exercise." He met Julian's eyes. "So very important, exercise. Don't you agree, Doctor?" Too fast. Too fast. Why did hunger always bring out impatience? Let the doctor lead. Respond. Hints, not statements. Guide, don't force.  
  
"You know I'm not attracted to you, Garak." There was no question in that statement, just calm finality. Whatever nervousness had been present when Garak had first accosted the man in the Replimat was gone in the security of his own quarters, as well as in his confidence that he could take care of himself.  
  
"I admit I was afraid of that." Brightening and ever optimistic, Garak added, "Which doesn't mean that you won't be attracted in the future."  
  
"And if I'm not?"  
  
Garak sighed. "That will be very disappointing."  
  
"My choice, of course." Julian stated.  
  
"Of course," Garak replied in surprised indignation. "Cardassians aren't animals. We seduce. We don't force." Garak was pleased to see Julian's body relax as he accepted Garak's statement. Though what Garak had said was true, Garak thought that the doctor really needed to not be quite so trusting. Though trust would make seduction so much easier. Hints, he reminded himself yet again. The opponent must believe that control lies with them.  
  
Settling himself more comfortably in the chair, Garak said, sympathetically. "Disappointing for you, as well. You have no idea how very well trained I've been."  
  
As Garak had expected, Julian sat up straighter, immediately interested. "Trained? Sexually, I assume you mean. Is that normal Cardassian education?"  
  
"Or from some sort of spy school, you mean?" Garak asked in his turn. "Merely a slip of the tongue, I'm afraid. I meant experienced, of course."  
  
"Of course," the doctor agreed, disbelief obvious. "Which reminds me, how did you get in here? You had to have bypassed quite a few security protocols."  
  
"Only three. A useful skill for anyone needing to drop off completed clothing when the customer isn't home. If you like, I'll show you how to upgrade your security locks to at least six."  
  
"Against anyone but you," Julian stated flatly. Garak smiled in acknowledgment. The doctor's curiosity had been obvious at lunch, as well as his fascination with spies. The combination of spy and secret knowledge seemed to make a perfect lure. The trick would be laying out the trap with subtlety, and baiting it with the doctor's own inquisitiveness.  
  
Stretching, Julian got up from the bed and, ignoring his visitor, headed to the bathroom.  
  
Garak watched the play of lean body through the thin, threadbare pajamas. Though what was needed was something not quite so constraining. A nightshirt perhaps. It would also make much easier access to the doctor's more interesting parts. Once he'd achieved such access, Garak reminded himself. First things first.  
  
While Julian went about his business, Garak got up and prowled the room more openly than he'd been able to do while his companion was sleeping. He had had time to thoroughly examine the living room, but had been cautious exploring so near the bed. Opening the closet, Garak found himself face to face with a stuffed animal.  
  
"That's Kukalaka."  
  
Garak stopped himself from spinning around. He was definitely getting careless. Curious, he picked up the small toy, which was plucked from over his shoulder. Julian looked about his room and walked over to a shelf, placing the bear carefully down. Garak, who had followed behind, picked it up again to examine. A leg seam was crudely mended with thick black thread, and puckered seams traced a history of hard use and rehabilitation. With some embarrassment, Julian took the bear back and replaced it on the shelf. "A bit crude," he admitted of the most obvious repair, "but it was my first operation."  
  
As Garak prowled the room, he was aware of Julian settling himself back in bed and watching. Surely the man should have thrown him out by now, or gotten dressed, or even just gotten angry at the invasion. Was it possible that this seduction was not totally unwanted? An inner smile glowed, and the growl in Garak's stomach moved several inches downward, suddenly becoming a real arousal.  
  
"Well, have you learned what you wanted to know about me? I'm neat. I sort my socks by color. Oh, and I still haven't given up my childhood. You should be able to write a book about me now, I suppose. A very, very boring book."  
  
Garak flashed a smile and bent to open the bottom drawer of a dresser set into a wall. At a quick intake of breath from the vicinity of the bed, Garak pulled it out a little more and felt around the corners. A chuckle told him that he'd been set up and he closed the drawer and straightened. "A short story, perhaps. Certainly not a novel." He returned to his chair and settled himself in, enjoying the point and counterpoint of their game.  
  
"You were deeply loved as a child and were probably an only child." At the doctor's raised eyebrow, Garak explained, "Kukalaka brings only good memories, and you would have kept him in better condition if he were the gift of a departed mother, so I would guess that your mother is still alive. She has a busy life of her own since she hasn't replaced the pajamas she gave you. That might mean that your father is also still alive, a reasonable assumption given your age and theirs."  
  
At Julian's nod, he continued. "Not only are your socks carefully arranged, but your clothes are also hung by what I would guess to be their frequency of wear. A combination of the efficiency and organization that comes from your profession as a Starfleet officer, as well as the qualities needed for a successful doctor."  
  
"You make me sound obsessive," Julian said with a frown.  
  
"I suppose it would be possible for your professional traits to excessively overwhelm your personal life, but you'll be pleased to know that your sports equipment was quite randomly spread across your closet floor."  
  
"Actually, I hadn't gotten around to organizing them yet," Julian sheepishly admitted. "Maybe I'll just leave them there. So, what else have you discovered? I suppose you've already learned what clothes I'll need to replace by visiting your shop?"  
  
"Always useful information. We'll talk pants later." Running his eyes over the body displayed to such advantage in the thin material, Garak observed, "You're a natural athlete. You play many different games and, based on the condition of your equipment, you're probably very good at most of them. Your body is a testament to your fitness regime." At Julian's self-satisfied look, Garak added, "But your health regime is too concentrated on academic opinion and not enough on listening to your body. You toss and turn so much, in part, because of that ridiculous pillow and partly because you keep your bedroom too cool. Your body would relax more while you were sleeping if you were warmer."  
  
"That's what the blanket is for," Julian explained, defensively adding, "and the pillow has been proven to be the ideal shape for correctly supporting the spine."  
  
"Maybe Morn's," Garak replied, dismissively, "but not yours. That's why you move almost continuously in your sleep."  
  
"I don't..." Garak's knowing look stopped Julian's defense. Julian corrected himself. "When I'm alone my sleep is completely restful." Trying to find a more comfortable position, and shoving the maligned pillow to the far side of the bed, Julian summarized Garak's observations. "So I'm a muscle-bound obsessive who could use a refresher course in ergonomics. And that attracts you because..."  
  
Leaning forward, Garak put his hand on the young man's thigh and looked deep into his eyes, "You're a beautiful man, and a fine doctor, as the papers and awards you've tucked away in the living room closets will attest. You don't need me to tell you that. You're perfectly aware how good you are."  
  
Julian's hand reached out to lightly grip Garak's wrist and, after a moment, the muscles that had tightened in Julian's thigh relaxed again. Reading that as Julian's growing interest - he'd been right! - Garak tried to move his hand in a caress, but Julian's hand was steel-band tight. Interesting, Garak thought. The doctor was unafraid but also uninterested. Garak smiled as he pulled his hand free and settled back into his seat. This was going to be a lovely challenge.  
  
"Shall I tell you about you?" Julian asked, surprising Garak yet again. Nodding, Garak waited with thrilled anticipation. What joy this relationship was going to be!  
  
As if to confirm Garak's hopes, Julian ran a long, slow look down Garak's body. Only when he looked back at Garak's face did he begin. "You come on as a sex-starved teenager, but you actually have very little interest in sex." When Garak would have objected, Julian brushed his objections aside, driving on. "For some reason you're interested in me. I have no idea why, but you're testing me - pushing me to see how I react." Julian reached out and took Garak's hand again and held it lightly. "Nothing I've done would be of the slightest interest to Cardassia."  
  
Though Garak didn't reply, Julian nodded to himself. "Yes, you agree. You're not concerned with me politically. But, still, you're interested in me. Then it's personal, if not sexual," he concluded.  
  
"Fascinating, Doctor," Garak said. "But I assure you that I am very interested in having sex with you."  
  
"Actually, you're not," Julian replied, contradicting him. After a moment he corrected himself, "You would be willing to have a sexual relationship and, undoubtedly, you'd enjoy it, but that's not what this is about, is it?"  
  
Things were definitely not going as expected. Uncomfortable in a tension that was no longer sexual, Garak prodded, "You tell me, my dear Doctor, since you think you're so good at psychoanalysis."  
  
After a long minute, Julian's eyes opened wider. "You're playing a game." When Garak would have pulled his hand back, Julian gripped it tighter, fingers warm and burning through his hand. "You were taught. That's what you said. You were taught seduction in spy school." The tug of war over Garak's hand was becoming a contest. "You're practicing on me!"  
  
Garak ripped his hand away and jumped up from the chair, turning it over as he did. But he could still feel Julian's eyes through the cloth on his back. This wasn't the way the game was supposed to be played. He was supposed to be in charge, regardless of what his opponent thought. So why was the carpet beneath his feet slipping out from underneath him? How could Bashir have known? What had he, Garak, done wrong? What signal had he missed?  
  
Turning around Garak attempted to keep his voice calm, though he could sense he was failing. "I don't need to practice. And it wasn't a spy school." His voice returned to a more modulated tone as control returned. Better to temporarily retreat and regroup to understand his mistakes. Nodding stiffly he said, "I'm sorry you don't find me to your taste. I'll leave now since it seems you're not interested in expanding your sexual limits."  
  
That brought Julian, eyes shining, out of bed and to the doorway to block Garak's exit. "So how did you get recruited into the spy business? What were they looking for and why did you decide to do it? How old were you? They must recruit young, like Starfleet, if they expect to mold personalities."  
  
"Mold?" Garak spit out. "They don't have to mold anyone. Spying is a hard business and you either learn to do it right or you die early." Realizing what he was saying, Garak made a small gesture of denial. "That is, I would imagine that's what the life is like. As a tailor, you understand, I sometimes overhear customers talking and spies need their pants to fit as much as anyone else does."  
  
Julian's smile revealed just how much he bought into that explanation. "Then, theoretically speaking, of course, why would anyone become a spy? The glamour? The danger?"  
  
Almost sputtering, Garak replied, "Glamour? Trying to get information out of some scared old man who's wetting his pants? Oh, yes, it's very glamorous to spend days watching a doorway and only learn later that the owner of the house moved a week before." He began pacing the room as he continued his rant. "Danger? Who in their right mind wants to live with the daily knowledge that you could die at any time? That's just something you accept because the end is so important that your life doesn't even weigh in the balance." Realizing again that he's said too much, Garak extemporized, "I would imagine that the life of a spy is very different from what you read about in those spy novels that fill your closet." He stopped and spread his hands in a deprecating gesture, "But what would I know..."  
  
Julian finished for him. "... being only a simple tailor. Yes, I know. But what is the end that is so important that you'd die for it? Why would anyone choose that life? How does your family feel about it? Do they even know?"  
  
The doctor couldn't have chosen a better way to slash Garak's soul if he had that soul laid out and exposed on his examination table. The physical memory of standing in front of Tain's desk while his father flayed that very soul into shreds blocked all awareness of carpet and cold and man and present time. As then, his fists clenched with the need to not let emotions paint themselves across his face. As if Tain would have cared. All the old man knew was his own blinding rage and nothing Garak could have said would have stopped a word or a sentence. Sentence. Yes, a lifetime sentence that had ripped him from everything he loved.  
  
Just as suddenly as the physical memory had come, it was gone and, with it, the tension that had kept Garak proudly upright and unyielding before his father. But now his legs felt weak and Garak walked past the doctor and threw himself onto the bed that had cooled to ice while they had played their stupid game. Dimly he became aware of the doctor picking up the chair and moving it beside the bed before sitting down.  
  
After a while, Garak turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling, very aware of, and strangely comforted by, the silent observor. The words burst out. "I love Cardassia. Oh, Doctor, you can't imagine it if you've never been there. The cities vibrate with the intensity of life. Some of the most magnificent literature and music and art were created there. I can close my eyes and walk down our main street at night. The shop windows are full of color and pattern, and I can hear the street musicians as I walk, the music of each group blending slowly into the next - each sound disappearing in its turn."  
  
Turning his head, he looked at the doctor and cried, "And I can never go home." Julian reached out and took his hand, sliding down to hold his wrist again. They sat for a few minutes in silence. "Does my family know?" Garak shook his head despairingly. "My father is the one who had me exiled!"  
  
"For what?" Julian blurted out.  
  
"Everything. Nothing. He somehow got the mistaken impression that I had taken something he valued - an old painting that had been his father's."  
  
"And had you?" Julian asked.  
  
"Well, grandfather had given it to me before he died."  
  
Garak felt the pressure on his wrist increase slightly and Julian shook his head. "You wouldn't have been exiled for something that minor, even if you had actually taken the painting. Which I doubt."  
  
It took an effort for Garak not to react, but he concentrated on maintaining a calm exterior and not letting his heartbeat increase. However the man was doing it, his young friend was actually playing lie detector with Garak's pulse rate. A surge of pleasure and adrenaline got past him, however, as he could see from Julian's reaction. If anyone had to interrogate the good doctor someday, they'd need do nothing but look at his face. Again Garak worked to bring his heartrate down. What absolute joy this man was! What had started out as a simple game to see how well old skills had survived had morphed into something that this wonderful, marvelous man was making into something so much more devious and delicious. Well-played, Doctor. Point to you.  
  
"So why were you really exiled, Garak?" Julian asked again, interrupting Garak's thoughts.  
  
Exhilarated by the game, Garak began his new story. "An enemy of my father thought he could get at him through me, so..." Julian shook his head and Garak switched in mid-sentence. "I insulted one of the ruling committee members and..." As before, Julian's head moved from side to side and Garak segued smoothly into "There was a slight problem with my using the money that should have gone for taxes to repay some minor gambling debt." A few more interchanges and Garak had gotten no further in bypassing his human truth teller. "My father thought I'd betrayed him," exploded out of nowhere. The grip on his wrist tightened and then hand slid into hand.  
  
"And did you?" Julian asked quietly with no judgment in his voice.  
  
"I hadn't meant to," Garak admitted, and awarded the doctor a second mental point. The game had to quickly change or it would be lost before barely begun. "Enough of this psychobabel, though" Garak declared, sitting up but still holding the doctor's hand. "You like games. Let's play a game. One that you might find a little dangerous." Yes, when he concentrated, Garak could feel the doctor's pulse against the side of his hand, and the rate had just increased.  
  
"Tell me the game and I'll tell you if I'll play," Julian challenged.  
  
Garak suppressed a smile. He had him. "You want knowledge. I want to see you naked. A simple transaction." The hand pulled roughly from Garak's grasp as Julian jumped to his feet.  
  
"No!"  
  
"Too dangerous, doctor?" Garak purred. "Surely, as a medical man, nakedness doesn't shock you. And I've already told you that I would never use force against you. I do want to have sex with you, but only with your full and enthusiastic cooperation. If you think being naked with me is going to tempt you to ravish me, then I can only tell you that you have my complete agreement in advance. Do what you will to me. I'm open to taking on any role you want me to play in our little drama."  
  
"What knowledge?" The question reluctantly pulled out of the man.  
  
"An ancient sexual technique that I'm willing to wager isn't in any of your medical texts. And the reason you'll be willing to let me apply it to you is that, to do it right, I never touch you. It's one of those things I was NOT taught, in what was NOT a spy school."  
  
Looking directly at Julian's groin, Garak sighed and looked up to meet Julian's eyes. "I could avoid the more obvious places on which to practice. And I give you my promise that, even if you beg, I will not have sex with you. So, what say you, Doctor? The danger is to your self-control, not mine." Again he tempted. "Do you want to learn something that no one in your medical profession even imagines is possible? Could anything be better than that, my dear Doctor?"  
  
"You're crazy, Garak."  
  
"Undoubtedly. But I'm also the only one who will ever be able to show you this. I assure you, it's a piece of knowledge that you will thank me for for the rest of your life."  
  
"And you're offering me this knowledge because..."  
  
"I already told you. It's a transaction of sorts. You learn an ancient secret and I visually enjoy your naked body. Surely not too high a price to pay. Only you and I will know that every time I see you in the future, I'll be able to mentally undress you. Oh, the fantasies in which you will star. And no one around us will ever know what I'll be thinking. Only you."  
  
"I couldn't care less what your fantasies are, Garak. That's between you and whoever has to be your counseler. And you're right. Nakedness isn't important to me." It wasn't clear which way Julian would decide but, finally, he said, "Okay, show me." With that, Julian removed his pajamas and threw them on the bed beside Garak. He made no attempt to cover himself, but stood silently and calmly before Garak's gaze.  
  
The game was a draw. But at least Garak would have his price. Taking his time, Garak got up and walked slowly around Julian, letting himself enjoy the view, but finding that much of the pleasure seemed somehow gone with Julian's lack of embarrassed response. A mischievous bubble grew. Reaching into a pocket, Garak removed a cylinder and held it up to Julian's inspection. "Since you'll eventually be my customer, I might as well take your measurements now. I can make up clothes for you far more accurately when I have your exact dimensions."  
  
"Just get this over with, Garak." Suddenly suspicious, Julian added, "Is that a camera?"  
  
Garak handed him the instrument and smiled as Julian examined it, then handed it back with a sigh. "It's just like medical examinations, Doctor. You always want to have base measurements for later comparison. So if you don't keep up your exercises," Garak methodically ran the measuring instrument across Julian's shoulders, back and waist while he talked, "I'll be able to tell you when you're losing that trim, tight shape." Kneeling down, Garak continued his measurements over Julian's bottom and down his legs.  
  
Julian looked back over his shoulder as Garak checked the cylinder's data. "That's a rather clever device. It could actually be useful in baseline exams."  
  
"I think you'd find, Doctor, that almost no one keeps up a level of fitness like yours. For most people, this would just be a sad reminder of the changes engendered by the passage of time." Standing up, Garak warned, "I'll measure your front now," and moved around to face Julian.  
  
"You measure all your customers naked?" Julian asked, looking up at the ceiling.  
  
"A truly awful thought! I'm going to have to recite some of Vondra's poetry to myself until I get those images out of my head."  
  
"I love Vondra's poetry," Julian enthusiastically broke in. "Wherever did you discover him? He's rather a minor poet among the Rebellionists." Glancing down, Julian saw just what Garak was now measuring and quickly looked back at the ceiling.  
  
"Minor? I think not. Remember that he was the one who invented the alternating stanza, and the poetic variations that were built on that rhythm formed the basis for the Great Literary Awakening in at least four star systems, including Earth, if I remember correctly. There, Doctor, almost done." With that, Garak stood up and moved back behind the man.  
  
"You should have enough measurements now to make me a new birthday suit," Julian grumbled.  
  
"Actually, you probably could use a tightly fitting athletic suit. I could make something that I'm sure you would find absolutely stunning." He put the cylinder back in his pocket. "It's a shame I can't get a miniaturized version of this to fit in my shoe."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Julian asked in complete bewilderment.  
  
Leaning down, Garak pulled a small, flat instrument out of his shoe, showed it off and put it back. "Every good spy should have their shoes handmade. If someone is searching you, they'll rarely look closely at your shoes."  
  
"You're kidding me?" Julian asked incredulously.  
  
"Yes. But it actually is a perfectly sensible place to keep extra tailoring supplies. You certainly don't want to keep needles in your pocket. I'll give you the name of my shoemaker."  
  
"Are you done, Garak? I am really starting to regret this."  
  
"Ah, so eager." At Julian's glare, Garak said, almost to himself, "Now let's just hope I still remember how to do this."  
  
Rubbing his palms together to sensitize them, Garak examined Julian's back, trying to decide where to start. It was an old Vulcan sex game - touching and never touching. He wondered if they avoided touch out of guilt over enjoying sex or because they got off on doing things in the hardest way possible. But, be that as it may, the trick was to move the hand rapidly above the skin so close that the hairs would tremble and produce an overwhelming sexual stimulation - just so long as the hand kept moving, and didn't get too far away or didn't touch the skin. Move out of range of the skin and the sensation stopped. Touch the skin and the sensation stopped. You needed absolute control of your hand, and it had to be instinctive. Think about it and your hand would wander uncontrollably and you'd fail.  
  
This had been his worst class, and the memories were indelibly burned into his brain. The instructor had been an elderly Vulcan who found no amusement in each student's fumbling attempts to rub the air above his wrinkled skin, and who could be guaranteed to let the rest of the class know how inadequate each try had been. Garak buried that memory back into whatever dark recess it had crawled out from. Julian. Concentrate on Julian. And quickly, too, before the man became impatient. With a deep breath, Garak began moving his hand over Julian's left shoulder. A sharp intake of Julian's breath told Garak he had gotten close enough. Now it was just a matter of concentrating on the surface undulations. His palm burned with the awareness of the warm skin just out of reach. His eyes saw each undulation of flesh and his hand followed precisely. Concentrate. Shift. Concentrate. Shift.  
  
As his hand moved lower, Garak shifted his own body position to give himself the most natural access to every hill and valley of firm, smooth flesh. When you concentrated this way, small changes became magnified in your mind, much like the effect of drawing an arm between wrist and elbow over a fifteen minute period. You began to see minor differences as major ones. Garak's hand was under unbelievable pressure and he didn't think he could continue much longer. By now, though, Julian would have learned the advantages to be found in someone skilled in such esoteric practices. Even though the spine was missing the complex beauty of a ridge line, there was still a purity in the smoothness, and his hand seemed to speed faster over the warmth than he ever remembered having it do. The only thing holding him back was the need to compensate for the trembling.  
  
It was only when that trembling turned into almost violent shivering that Garak realized that he had reached the rounded prominences before which he had planned to stop. Memory warned him that you avoided this area if you didn't intend to immediately satisfy the urges being brought to an insatiable pitch. But temptation firmly suppressed memory, and he let himself linger over the beauty of curve and slope. So smooth. A minimalist sculpture. And such a warm one. The trembling was becoming too difficult to compensate for and Garak became suddenly aware of what he was doing. With a sudden motion, he jerked his hand away and let his hand shake with the intensity of relief of the mental pressure he had used to guide it.  
  
A gasp from Julian echoed Garak's move away, and the trembling before him became almost uncontrollable. Garak cursed himself. He should have prepared for this, but it had been so many years since he'd used this ancient technique. Besides, the temptation had been irresistible. But he should have resisted, Garak scolded himself silently. He knew what it felt like to be left in that condition. He wanted to satisfy the feelings he had created, but he couldn't violate the promise he had made. He wouldn't. In moments Garak knew Julian would be begging him to enter Julian's body. There was only one thing to do, and Garak did it. Pausing only to whisper, "A gift," Garak took the coward's way out and darted from the room, not seeing that behind him Julian was sinking to his knees.  
  
Julian burned from the inside out. He couldn't imagine any other way to describe what was happening to his body. It was a perfect burning, as though he were being consumed by flames that would fulfill his entire existence. Except that they wouldn't complete the consumption. They just burned and cried out for a single solution - to be mounted by the one who had put him in this condition in the first place. A gift? A curse.  
  
At any moment he expected the Cardassian to return and finish what he started. To quench this burning the one way Julian was sure would work. But Garak never came, and Julian was finally coming to realize that he probably never would. He, Julian, was the only one who could get control of his body. It was possible. Julian knew how to exercise past unimaginable pain. Would Garak have left him like this if there wasn't an end to the pain? Only it wasn't pain, was it? It was the purest pleasure. A gift. Hah! He knew exactly where he would shove Garak's gift the first chance he got. Which thought brought back the overwhelming need to have Garak in him right this minute. Oh, the unpitiable irony and agony.  
  
Breathe. Focus the mind. His day's work. There was no pattern to the work yet. It was all too new. Some old experiment then. The blood chemistry experiments to explain why Denebian Fever never appeared in the inhabitants of that small town on the coast. What was its name? Takfudintu. No wonder he didn't remember it. What had he used in each of the experiments? Oh, the need! The tests. What had he tested in the two hundred and thirty-five failed experiments? He was mentally examining the hundred and seventeenth when the answer suddenly came to him. Manganese. There were no reports of manganese present in the soil. The PH was low and if the soil contained any manganese, it would have showed.  
  
The realization that the burning had receded into a generalized, feeling of well-being - a buzz - came suddenly. Tucking the experimental discovery aside for later consideration, Julian got to his feet. He was stiff, as though he'd been on the floor for hours, but his internal clock told him it had only been twenty-three minutes. It was the tension his body had been under that made him feel stiff. Regretfully, he put the idea of breakfast aside. He'd have to hurry if he wasn't going to be late for work.  
  
As for Garak, Julian knew he had some payback to consider. Some very slow and very painful payback.

 

Continued at: https://msl-cb.dreamwidth.org/841.html


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